She fled into the parlor. The landlady, who seemed to have a panacea for all ills, suggested that she might tack mosquito netting around the little balcony extending from our bedroom, and then she could sit there in comfort when the mosquitoes bothered.
“That’s what the last lady that had that 76 room did,” she said, “but when she left, she took the netting with her. We keep a supply in our little store.”
Silvia immediately sought the hotel store and bought a quantity of the netting and a goodly stock of the mosquito lotion.
That night as I was drifting into slumber, Silvia remarked: “Only one of the things I heard and read about this place is true.”
“Which one?” I asked between winks.
“That it was unfrequented. I have seen only three guests besides us so far. How do they make it pay?”
“The hotel is evidently only a side issue,” I replied.
“To what?”
“To the store. Think of the quantities of lotion and netting they must sell in the season, which, you must know, is in the fall. The hunting, the landlord tells me, is 77 very good, and his hotel is quite popular in October and November.”
“I think we had better stay, Lucien. Mosquitoes don’t poison you.”